


That without cease I give you

by Fandine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Journalist!Iris West, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandine/pseuds/Fandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No last ditch, no last chance, no last redemption. She has believed in the impossible her whole life, and now she knows the impossible is possible, but not all impossibilities. No one can raise the dead.</i>
</p><p>Iris West is a cop's daughter, a journalist and a hero. She's also a friend and a lover. This is her story, and it's a story about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there was a boy

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for a heavy emphasis on grief and death as a theme for the whole fic. Additionally there's some manipulation in a supernatural manner done to the main character and instances where people aren't sure what is reality and not. There is also a very quick mention of puking as a means of "becoming pure". Please read with caution if any of these things make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> If you want to know a little bit more before reading, don't hesitate to send me a message. And if you catch anything else I should warn about, please let me know. I'd hate for anyone to become unpleasantly surprised and leave reading this because it triggered them or anything.
> 
> No beta, any faults in the text is mine.

There’s a boy standing with wide eyes and a shaky smile in the middle of the living room and Iris West does not fall in love. Not yet.

 

 

There’s a boy standing in the middle of the living room when Iris comes back home from school one day.

 _Barry Allen_ is standing in the middle of the living room when Iris comes back home from school one day. Crouched in front of him is her dad, saying something intently to him in a low voice, both his hands on Barry’s shoulders. She’s had those hands on her own shoulders and her dad’s steady gaze on her before; she knows how safe and reassuring they can feel. Although she can’t see Barry properly because he is hanging his head, she can see how he shakes his head in a continuous, slow motion, how his shoulders are shaking, hears how he’s inhaling, like he’s drowning.

Iris stands there for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, the front of her left feet barely touching the floor inside. While she’s watching, her dad enfolds him in his arms, moving his hand in soothing circles at his back. Barry’s outright sobbing now.

This scene isn’t for her to view, she thinks. In this moment, she feels like she’s intruding in another’s home. Making sure to close the door without a sound, she goes to stand outside, leaning so her backpack touches the door, her arms hanging at her sides.

She knows Barry Allen in the same way children of close friends are bound to get to know each other. She knows that he plays football only because his father forced him to enter a sport, that his favorite subject is science and that he likes to read books about the universe and other heavy stuff she would rather leave behind at school. He has glow in the dark stars stickers all over the ceiling in his room, and if you ask him why, his ears would become bright red and he would stammer a lie like he is just too lazy to take them down. They’ve grown a little apart the last year as they were put in different classes, and their individual groups of friends don’t really intersect. But that doesn’t stop them from saving each other a spot on the school bus.

In the back of her mind, she recalls people in her class saying his name when talking about some recent fights at school. She entertains the idea that maybe her dad is giving him a stern lecture about it, but she knows those fights weren’t exactly unprovoked. The mood felt much, much different though, so she quickly casts it aside. Her dad would be more jovial about it, acting it up a little, but ultimately give him a clap on the back and a few tips.

She’s abruptly interrupted from her stupor when the door she’s leaning on, suddenly opens. She flails, but instead of the hard floor, her shoulders hit a soft belly as familiar hands grip around her to steady her.

“Iris!”

“Dad,” Iris says, spinning around.

 _Dad looks exhausted_ , is the first thing to come to her mind when she looks up at him. A note in the kitchen she found this morning might explain that. He does that sometimes. Have to leave in the middle of the night when a case suddenly pops up. The first few times he did that, he had woken her up to make sure she knew and gave her a cell so she could call, just in case. The first few times, she had stayed up, praying that he came back safe, just in case. That it wasn’t the last time he walked out the front door. Something about her dad working in the dark was a much scarier thought than him working in the light of the day. They’re both used to it now.

She cranes her head to look around him at Barry, but Barry’s resolutely at the floor, not greeting her with a smile as he usually does. Her stomach falls.

“Iris,” her dad says, his voice cracking.

Iris doesn’t know anything yet.

                                                                                     

 

“What the hell, Barry?”

“I—I didn’t mean to, Iris, I swear. I really, really didn’t want to, you have to believe. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you, but.” Barry stops as Iris snorts, disbelieving. His hands are spread in front of him, but they curl in on themselves now before he lets them fall at his side.

“No, Barry,” she says around the heavy lump in her throat that makes her voice raspy with unshed tears. “You don’t—You don’t do this kind of thing without a plan, without some sort of intent. You deliberately and consciously—did this. I mean, what the _hell_.” She hates herself for it, but can’t quite manage to keep her voice from cracking under the weight of it all and her lips from quivering at the edges.

                                                                                                                                        

 

Wait, no, that’s not where this story begins. It begins here:

 

 

Iris wakes up in the dark, and she is so surprised by it, for a beat, she thinks she’s still asleep. But then she blinks and catches the light from her clock in her peripheral vision. Iris stares at the clock with bleary eyes. 03:30 blinks at her in red. This is the first time she’s woken up that early by herself. Usually her mama has to come into her room and physically drag her to the bathroom before taking her to school, despite having ensured her daughter had two alarms.

She curls the duvet around herself, determined to fall asleep again and already half way into a dream, when she becomes aware of the sounds coming from downstairs. At first, the sounds are just background sounds to her, fueling her deeper into sleep, but then she hears her mother yell and with a jolt she realizes it isn’t the TV.

“Joe! Please understand, dear.”

Her mama sounds resigned and distressed, as if she knows she has already lost, but she has to plunge through anyway. Listening closely, she can hear the way they hush and hiss at each other, trying not to wake their daughter but failing. Iris gets goosebumps because why is her parents arguing this early, anyway.

Her feet feels ice cold when she sneaks across the floor, out the door and down the stairs. A part of her wants to dive into her bed again, under the pillow and thick duvet, and just sleep ‘till morning, ‘till her mother comes yelling into her room to yet again shake her awake and push her into the bathroom to do her hair. Then she will wash her face, trod down stairs to the kitchen and slowly chew her bowl of cornflakes without milk – because she likes her cornflakes to not be soggy – before she walks upstairs again to brush her teeth and get her backpack. At the door, she will kiss her mom’s cheek and shout to her dad to have a great day at work, before running to her bus where she will meet up with Araceli and Barry.

But another part of her, the bigger part of her, the part that is always curious and questioning, that will itch and itch under her skin until she gets an answer – the part her mama says will one day make her a great detective or an even greater investigative cop just like her dad – that part. Well, that part is screaming in her head. So, she swallows her fear and goes outside her room.

Sneaking down the stairs would be difficult if she hadn’t lived in this house for almost 9 years, and so she knows where she has to step over a step to avoid creaking boards. She sits down at the last step and cranes her neck to see to the side and in to the living room.

Standing by the fireplace is her dad. His back is turned towards her, but she can see how tightly he grips the ledge placed over the fireplace and how his shoulders are shaking. Her mama is standing at the other end of the room, only her profile visible to Iris, but it is enough to see that she is looking at dad with tears in her eyes. The time of fighting has passed and now they are both sad and unable to comfort each other. Iris is about to stand up and run up to them and hug them, when she notices the suitcases by the door, and her whole stomach plummets.

_Are they going to leave me?_

In shock and unable to do anything but sit there, Iris just sits there as hazy panic fills her head. She startles when she suddenly hears her dad suddenly punch the ledge he’s holding and say in a low, gravy voice; “If you are going to leave us, then leave.”

“Joe,” her mama says, bowing her head and holding her hands to her stomach as if she’s hurting. “Please.”

“I can’t,” he says and shakes his head. “I can’t. There has to be another way. There has to be.”

“What other way, Joe?” her mama snaps and flings her arm out the sides as if saying, ‘suggestions?’ “What other way? We have tried, Joe, _I_ have tried. You think I want to leave you? Leave Iris? You think I don’t want to see my daughter celebrating her birthdays with her friends? Growing up and graduating? If I could, I would do her hair every day. I would hold her hand when she cried and I would help her up when she made mistakes.” She moves towards her dad, taking his hands in hers. “I would do anything. But now, I need you to do it instead.”

Her dad is openly crying now, silent tears streaming his face and Iris cries with him. She holds her hands in front of her mouth to stop the sobs, but can’t disguise the sound of her shaky inhales. Her parents doesn’t notice though. They are embracing each other, tightly clinging to each other’s shoulders. Iris wants nothing more than to run and join them, standing in the middle of their warm bodies, knowing it’s the safest place on earth there. They would stop anything bad from happening to her.

But it’s scary. She tries to stand up but her legs are jelly, and she falls back onto the step. What if she runs to them and takes her mama’s hand in hers, and yet she still goes? Will she not come back? Is this forever? Is she in danger? Is she going to die?

Burdened by these heavy thoughts, Iris sits there, petrified and anchored to her place, as her mama kisses her dad goodbye and goes through the door a last time.

And that’s that.

 

 

Iris meets Eddie’s parents for the third time at his funeral, and although they can’t possibly know what really happened, Iris can’t help but see the blame in their eyes. She should have saved him. She lived with him. She should have found a way to stop him from going out that night. She should have done something. She was within arm reach. Why couldn’t she stop the life pouring out from his wound with her bare hands?

But his father just nods solemnly at her while his mother hugs her and falls apart in her arms. All the while, Iris wants to dig a hole in the moist earth and curl herself up beside Eddie’s coffin to cry and cry, but she doesn’t have any right. She doesn’t have any right. So she tries her best to put his mother back together in her arms, running soothing circles on her back, whispering what a wonderful man he was.

His beautiful sister, Kara, who is just nineteen years old, stands between her parents when the casket is lowered to the hole, holding her mother’s hand in a tight grip so their knuckles become white. She doesn’t close her eyes as her parents does when they put Eddie’s coffin in the dirty ground, just let the tears fall freely as she stares at his gravestone.

The rest of the Police Department is there, giving their condolences to the family. Iris’ dad had given them a plausible explanation for his death – something about dying in the case of duty – and no doubt will Eddie’s name be printed into a plaque along with his picture to be hung up at the Memorial Wall at the station. He died a hero, they will say. In the service, they will say. A true hero, they will say.

 _Oh god,_ Iris thinks. There is no way she will be able to walk there anymore.

After the burial, when the crowd moves inside for the reception, and Kara – with long, golden hair just like his and blue eyes that are now shiny with still unshed tears – pulls her aside and hugs her.

“I am so sorry,” she says in her ear.

“I am sorry too,” Iris says. “He loved you very much, and he was so, so proud of you for deciding to pursue your dream. He couldn’t stop talking about how amazing and brave you are.”

“Re-really?” she hiccups. Iris pulls out a handkerchief from her jacket and hands it to Kara without pulling away from the hug.

“Really,” she says. “He used to tell me that – that he wished he had half of your courage when he was your age.”

Kara snorts and lets go of Iris. And finally Kara smiles, albeit a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. It starts at the softening of her eyes and blooms with her lips, and it’s so warm and so familiar.

“I can tell why he loved you so much,” Kara says, and Iris…

Iris can’t do this anymore.

She bites her cheek until she draws blood and says a quick goodbye to Kara. In the backside of her mind, she vaguely hopes she wasn’t too rude as she practically runs out of the reception place, but then the tinge of blood becomes sharp in her mouth, making her stomach squirm. For a split second, she can see Barry and her dad at her peripheral sight, but she pretends she can’t hear them shout after her as she rushes through the doors.

Outside it is raining, but she doesn’t stop. She just runs, her low heels splashing in the puddles she runs through. Mud and dirty water travels up her legs, but she doesn’t care if it ruins her shoes and dress. She is never going to wear them again. It’s best if they just become ruined, as everything else.

She finally stops in a corner of a coffee shop, leaning back on the wall and letting her head roll back as she closes her eyes and heaves for breath. It’s long since she’s ran like that. The taste of blood is still overwhelming in her mouth, and the combination of the heavy rain and her out of breath makes her head dizzy and dense. She spits the blood on the ground beside her, and gets a petty joy out of it.

When she finally has gotten her breath in control, she opens her eyes and notices the white car parked in front of her. The streets are mostly empty, as it is still a Sunday morning. She’s expecting it to be Barry or her dad, but when the side window rolls down, it’s neither. It’s Caitlin.

“You’ll get pneumonia if you stay out in this cold,” she says, looking at a point over Iris’ head. “Especially this wet. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Silently, Iris opens the door to the front seat, and sits down. She puts on the seatbelt as she asks, “Did Barry put you up to this?”

A few seconds of silence passes between them as Iris fiddles with the seatbelt, when Caitlin says, softly, “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Iris sighs and leans her head on the window. She watches the raindrops traveling down the windshield. It’s been raining non-stop since yesterday. Eddie didn’t like rain. He’d be disappointed if he’d knew it was raining on his funeral. He loved sunshine and hot days, and she loved to see him smile, enshrined in sunshine, making his golden hair seem even more golden. Especially in the mornings, when he was fed up with her not waking up, he would push aside the curtains to let in the morning sun right at her. And when she squinted up at him, with the sunshine at his back… He looked like a god.

She closes her eyes at feelings the memory provokes. Hurt and sadness wells up at her. She will never see him like that again. She will never see him smile ever again.

She steels herself before going further into the void and looks over at Caitlin, who is resolutely looking at the road. It could be because it’s raining so hard and the roads might be slippery, but Iris gets the impression that Caitlin is also trying to give her some privacy, and Iris almost smiles at the thoughtfulness. Suddenly, a thought hits her.

“Wait,” Iris says, and Caitlin visibly jumps a little in her seat. “What home?”

Before she can answer, Iris looks out and realizes they’re already in front of her and Eddie’s house. What _was_ their house.

Caitlin parks the car, and they sit there silently as the only sounds is the rain hitting the roof of the car. Caitlin, who looks over at her with a worried expression, says, “I can take you to Joe’s if you want—“

“No,” Iris says, shaking her head. “No, absolutely not. I think—I think I need to be away from my dad and Barry for a while.”

Caitlin nods, looking out the windshield again. “That’s understandable, of course.”

 _Yeah, but I can’t even go to this house_ , Iris thinks, suddenly realizing the situation she is in. She can’t go to her dad’s house because her dad and Barry will be there, and seeing them now… Seeing them now is not a good idea. She is not sure what she will do if they try to explain themselves again. But she can’t go to what was her and Eddie’s house because Eddie’s not here anymore and their house was never hers alone.

She has no home now.

Caitlin clears her throat, pulling Iris out of her thoughts. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” she says slowly. “Especially since I was one of the people who kept the secret from you—“

The old Iris would shake her head and immediately try to reassure Caitlin. This Iris, well, she can’t find the energy to try to even smile. “Caitlin. From what I’ve gathered, it was my dad and Barry’s idea to keep me out of the loop. You just got dragged in to it and was forced to keep their secret from them. I don’t hold any grudge against you.”

Looking at her with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, Caitlin seems speechless, before she shakes her head in disagreement. “No, no—I mean, I’m happy you are not, uhm—with me, but I definitely have some blame. I participated in keeping you in the dark. Sometimes, I even encouraged it. So I definitely have some blame, and I am very sorry for it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.”

Iris looks at her and can see how discomfited she is. She suspects Caitlin isn’t very used to speak of her feelings much, especially to near strangers, which they technically are. Looking at her now, clearly uncomfortable but still delivering her apology with sincerity, Iris can’t drag any anger out of herself. Some part of her knows that this is a way for Caitlin to ease a little of her guilt. But she is just so tired. She doesn’t want to ponder intentions and motivations. She wants to go home and sleep.

“Caitlin,” she says. “I would be lying if I said it was fine, but we didn’t really ever get to know each other that much, did we? I guess it was because of all the secrets between us.”

Caitlin nods and looks down. “I know. But,” she say and swallows, “but I still would like to become friends, if you would let me.”

This time, Iris tries to smile. It’s not big, it might not even be that visible, but it’s something. “That would be fine.”

Caitlin smiles back and this isn’t like one of her polite smiles. This is soft and brittle at the edges, hesitation written in her eyes, but a smile because she _feels like_ smiling. Iris can understand now how Ronnie fell for her, if she smiled at him like that.

“Would you like to stay over at my place tonight?” Caitlin asks, glancing everywhere but at Iris. “I—I know how it is to lose someone you love. And I know I myself would have liked to have someone by my side at that time, so…”

“Thank you,” Iris says. “But I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She doesn’t know if it sounds convincing, for truly, she has no home now. _No home, no home, no home, no home_.

“It wouldn’t be intruding,” Caitlin says quickly. “Ronnie’s at Marvin; I’ll just send a text for him to stay over at Marvin’s place, so it’s just us.”

“Well then,” Iris says. “I would like to come over. Thanks.”

Caitlin just waves her hand, and turns her head down in embarrassment.

“Just,” Iris says and opens the door. “Just let me get some things, okay?”

Iris runs through the rain to reach the front door, but once in front of it she has to take several deep breaths before she can reach out, unlock the door and turn the knob. Inside it is dark, just as she left as she went to the burial. But it feels different now. Now she knows his body has returned to the earth to become dust, and there’s no chance of him returning. No last ditch, no last chance, no last redemption. She has believed in the impossible her whole life, and now she knows the impossible is possible, but not all impossibilities. No one can raise the dead.

She hurries past the many photosets that adorns the hallway-walls – the ones showing teenage Eddie in a family photo, the one with him as a kid playing with his baby sister, the one with him on the beach with his college friends, the ones with him and her. When she comes to their bedroom, she goes straight to the closet and pulls out the shelves containing her clothes. She opens the suitcase she had already begun packing the day before, on the off chance his family would say they wanted her out of the house immediately when she saw them today. Of course, they would be too nice, she thinks and grips her hand in tight fists. Of course.

Not bothering to put the clothes neatly in the suitcase, just kind of turning the shelves over the suitcase and letting the clothes fall into it, the packing is done in minutes. She zips the suitcase, but not before packing the pictures of him and her that hung on the hallway, carefully laying it between the layers of clothes so the frame doesn’t accidentally crack. When she closes the closet, she thinks she catches a form by the window. She turns.

There’s no one.

She starts to laugh, and she laughs and laughs and laughs, until she has to support herself on the wall, and she slides down to the floor, and then she has to keep her head down to stop herself from panicking. She measures her breaths, forces herself to breath with her stomach.

“You’re dead, Eddie,” Iris says aloud, through tears, and when did she start to cry? It’s all wet, all so wet, outside, inside, her face, her hands. “You’re dead. And I’m so sorry.”

When she walks out of the house, she doesn’t look back.

“Let’s go,” she says to Caitlin, slamming the car door behind her, and they drive away.

 

 

At Caitlin’s place, they get drunk. Iris had planned to just fall asleep and declined the first glass, but then Caitlin commented it was just polite to drink in company, especially when they both were mourning. It didn’t escape Iris’ notice though that Caitlin nursed the same glass for hours, while Iris was on her fourth or fifth glass.

“I am a lightweight,” Caitlin says, pursing her lips. “Or so I’m told.”

Iris grimaces. “Eddie is— _was_ one too. He’d take one sip and get drunk just from that. But he was so adorable, he’d start saying mushy things like how lucky he was to have met me and how happy he was with his friends and life. And he would have this goofy grin on his face the whole time. Did you know that he liked Guinness? No accounting for taste, I guess. Well, except for women I sup—I suppose.”

Caitlin chuckles, and pours Iris another glass. “I didn’t have the chance to see him drunk, but I had the impression he was an in—inherent honest person.”

“He was,” Iris says, looking down at her glass, watching the small bubbles spiraling up from the bottom of the glass and up to the surface. “He was.” She snorts. “He couldn’t drink that much when we were out together though, because at the end of the night, he was the one who had to drive us home.”

“You don’t have the driver license?” Caitlin asks.

“Nope,” Iris says, letting the ‘p’ pop in her mouth. “No, I don’t.”

Caitlin hums, and for some reason, Iris feels the urge to explain. “I just never had the need. First it was because I wanted to focus on my studies, and then I got work only a short distance from my dad’s house… It just never seemed necessary, you know?”

Caitlin just looks at her.

 

 

Caitlin just looks at her, and Iris can’t describe what the look is supposed to mean, but it’s not the first time she’s seen that look. The girl with the name meaning _sun_ looked at her like that, sitting with her legs crossed on the floor across from her. Between them lied the prayer mat, and on her lap was the discarded khimar. She’d just done al-Isha.

“Huh,” she said, twirling a Popsicle stick between her fingers.

“What,” Iris snapped because her teeth was already on edge.

She looked at her. “Just,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d give up.”

 

 

When Iris wakes up in the morning with a splitting headache and troubling stomach, Caitlin is the one to hold her hair up when she’s on her knees and throwing up in the toilet. Caitlin is crouching right beside her, patting her back and making sympathetic sounds. She thinks _this is it._ When she was a child, she used to daydream of finding a thread in her mouth. When she pulled it out, everything ugly, cruel, dirty and excess about her would come up, so it left her perfect, beautiful, nice and good. This works too, her body forcibly rejecting everything wrong with her and her body. When she is done, she’ll be clean. Everything will be fine.

 

 

Everything is not fine. Eddie, her almost-fiancé, still died right in front of her, every last one of the closest people around her had willfully lied to her for several months, she has no home (or any place she is willing to stay at right now at any rate), Wally’s at the other side of the country and there’s no one else she is close to at the moment that she can think of to turn for any help. Add her monstrous hangover to the bunch and the fact that when she will be trying to find a place today, she won’t be able to comfortable drive a car and has to coordinate everything with the bus schedules.

“You can stay here, you know, Iris,” Caitlin says in a low voice, minding Iris’ headache and giving her a cup of coffee as they settle down at the kitchen table.

Iris had thought about staying for a second before discarding the idea. Caitlin and Ronnie had just married, not even for a month yet, and Iris wouldn’t want to intrude that.

“No, Caitlin,” Iris says with certainty she doesn’t actually own. “I have to find my own place to stay.”

“Does it have to be that difficult?” Caitlin asks, sipping her own coffee.

“What do you mean?” Iris asks, frowning.

“I mean,” Caitlin says slowly and measured, as if she doesn’t want to upset Iris but deeming it necessary to be said aloud, “we are all mourning. Barry and Joe can be here for you, if you let them.”

Iris sips her coffee, even though it still is way too hot. It scalds her tongue and the roof of her mouth, leaving a bitter aftertaste, just the way she likes it. Her dad was strict on her and Barry drinking anything with caffeine when they grew up. She acquired her coffee habit first at college and never shook it off. Her dad and Barry always preferred sweet things anyway.

“I don’t want to be with them right now though,” Iris says.

“You know they’ll worry about you if you avoid them. Is that – what – your revenge?” Caitlin says. Iris snaps her head up to look at Caitlin in surprise.

“No,” she says. “Or… yeah, no, it’s not revenge. I’m not that petty.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I love them, Caitlin,” Iris says, leaning over the table to look her in the eyes, making sure that Caitlin _understand_. “I love both dad and Barry. They are everything to me. But that doesn’t mean I have to like them right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin says again, inclining her head and twisting the ring on her ring finger. “Truly. Believe it or not, I know how it feels to be shut off.”

Iris is yet again surprised by Caitlin’s honesty. The few times they have talked before, she’d gotten the impression that Caitlin is timid and somewhat guarded, like she is always hyperaware of the world around her and wary of what she sees. For her to share something of herself to Iris makes Iris feel strangely honored. It’s like someone has suddenly wiped on the camera lens Iris was looking through, and she realizes that the dust was the reason it couldn’t focus properly. She thinks back on the time she went to S.T.A.R. Labs to confront Barry, and remembers Caitlin was standing in front of him when she had come in the room, treating Barry’s wounds.

Iris wonders if the wariness has always been there with her, if it came after her husband died in the particle accelerator, or if it came from studying and working and coming at the top in a man dominated STEM field. Either way, it must come from loving something deeply and being deeply afraid of losing it.

Silence descends between them, but it’s not awkward. They sip on their coffees, and leave each other to their own thoughts. Considering all the elephants in the room, Iris would have thought it would have been more forced or embarrassing, but being with Caitlin is easy. Comfortable.

Caitlin twists the mug in her hand, and Iris snorts.

“What,” she says, lifting one eyebrow, her lips twitching at the edge. Iris only giggles and points at the mug Caitlin is holding.

The side of the mug reads ´ _Neuropathologist powered by caffeine_ ´. 

Caitlin rolls her eyes. “Ronnie,” she says in explanation, and they begin to laugh.

 

 

Iris makes a decision during that conversation.

 

 

When Iris later says goodbye, she stops just outside the doorway and turns towards Caitlin. Caitlin raises her brows and looks expectantly at Iris.

“Can I hug you?” Iris asks.

Caitlin blinks, before she gives a hesitant, short nod. Iris wraps her arm around her, but Caitlin stands there with her arms hanging, still surprised.

“Thank you,” Iris whispers in her ear.

When Iris is about to let go, Caitlin wraps her arms carefully around Iris’ shoulders.

 

 

She goes back to work three days after that. Sitting alone in the apartment, contemplating the last few weeks, the last year, her whole life, was making her restless and frustrated. Going back to work, she figured, would keep her minds occupied and off things she couldn’t change. She doesn’t know what she expects, but in hindsight she probably should have remembered she worked with reporters and journalists. Knowledge is power, and all that.

“Iris,” Zamora Kalaw says again.

“Yeah?” Iris says, intently looking at her black computer screen. Of course it would die out the first day back at work. It just had to. “Sorry, I’m trying to get this—“

“Want a cup of coffee?” Zamora asks.

Iris looks up, her attention definitely caught. “What do you have?”

Zamora raises an eyebrow in amusement. “One black if you—“

“Yes,” Iris says and makes grabbing hands towards her. “Yes, yes, thank you.”

Zamora hands her one, and Iris downs it without hesitation.

“Careful!” Zamora says. “You’ll burn yourself.”

“Isn’t that the only way to drink it?” Iris says. Zamora laughs awkwardly, the way people do when they’re not sure if someone is joking or not. Iris doesn’t do anything to confirm the notion, just takes one more sip while smashing random buttons on her computer at this point.

“Anyway,” Zamora says, blowing a stray, black hair lock from her face while holding a phone in one hand and balancing three more coffees on a tray in the other. “I came over to tell you Ling finally have a moment. You wanted to talk to her, right?”

“Yes,” Iris says, already rising from her chair to move towards her boss’ office. “How was she?”

“She’s not on a warpath anymore, if that’s what you mean,” Zamora says. “But, you know, just to be on the safe side, don’t mention the Greywaren scandal. Or politicians. You know what? Just don’t mention any white guys.”

“Got’cha,” Iris says and downs the remains of her coffee. “Wish me luck.”

“Yeah,” Zamora says slowly. She clears her throat. “Wait. Iris?”

“Hmm?”

“You know, I’m here if you ever want to talk?”

Iris stills, but only for a moment, before she nods. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

She can feel how Zamora is scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes, but honestly. How many times have she heard that sentiment repeated to her only today? She isn’t so far gone that she can’t appreciate their intentions, but at this point it’s dragging her. She can’t have any moment for herself, without Eddie looking at her from the corner of the room. She doesn’t have time to be reminded by her coworkers too. So she looks back until Zamora breaks eye contact, and finally takes her file and goes.

 

 

“Look,” Mei Ling says, leaning back in her chair without breaking eye contact and clasps her hands in her lap. “I am aware that you are under excruciating circumstances, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Iris nods, feeling prickling hotness behind her eyes. She grits her teeth, not saying anything, but she can hear the ‘but’ coming.

“But,” her boss continues. “There’s a reason we hire you, and it was because you had an audience writing articles about The Flash.”

Ling leans forward, resting her forearms on the desk. Her voice is not unkind, but firm when she say, “At this moment, I think your energy is best spent doing just that.”

Iris inclines her head, looking at the desk. “But I truly think—“

“West,” Ling says, her patience fraying at the seams. “I am done discussing this. I’ll contact you if I have another job for you. Right now, just focus on The Flash and do as your supervisor says.”

Ling inclines her head in a final nod, and picks up the papers laying on the desk. Ling likes it traditional, Iris knows. It’s not really efficient or logical to print out every paper handed to you, but that’s Ling. She turns the chair to the side, towards the light coming through the window, and looks decidedly away from Iris.

“Understood,” Iris says because she can recognize a clear dismissal. She tries to smiles, but her lips curl in a weird way and she can’t be sure if it doesn’t look like a grimace. She walks out, careful when closing the door, slowly letting go of the knob. It feels a little like walking out of a principal’s office after getting lectured for bad behavior.

She is suddenly so tired.

People are resolutely not looking her way when she walks past their desks, reminding Iris how thin the walls in this building actually are. The work place looks new because of the remodeling inside and the new, high-tech computers, printers and other equipment, but the building itself is rather old. Iris feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment and humiliation as she walks up to her desk. She knows some of these people don’t consider her an equal, or even a colleague for that matter. It’s renowned that she is the author of “that wacky conspiracy blog”. To these people, she is little more than an wannabe.

As she walks through the room to her desk, she resolutely avoids looking at the desk in the right corner. Mason’s. Maybe one day she will stop feeling his death heavy on her shoulders.

She is editing the newest article her supervisor sent her, double-checking the credentials of the sources and loudly thinking not so flattering words in her head when she finds them lacking. And how can any self-respecting writer not even check they typed the names correctly before sending it for editing?

She is too preoccupied to notice a person walking up to her.

“Iris,” Linda Park says, coming to a stop beside her desk.

“Linda,” she says, trying to hide the fact that she jumped in her seat and wonders when they’d gone back to first names. She wouldn’t accuse Linda Park of being unprofessional, partly because Linda would probably kick her ass, but mostly because she really isn’t. She is just somewhat more short with Iris than all their other co-workers, and Iris can’t really blame her. Thinking back, Iris wants to slap herself. Linda was genuinely interested in Barry and she didn’t behave like an overprotective foster sister. She behaved like a possessive girlfriend.

She can see Linda looking at her and weighing something in her mind, and as Iris braces herself for another condolence, Linda says, “I need help.”

“Huh?” Iris blurts, utterly unprepared. Linda tosses the map she was holding on her desk, the papers scattering all over the surface of her desk. **The Stockmann Water Project** is written in black block letters.

“Read it and get back to me,” Linda says over her shoulders as she walks away.

Iris just looks after her, having lost her voice.

Zamora, who witnessed everything from her desk opposite to Iris, leans over to her. “She stood in front of boss’ door when you demanded a new assignment. Guess it’s her way.”

Iris wants to ask _her way to_ _what_ , but immediately loses that trail of though as she has already begun reading the papers.

The Stockmann Water Project is a corporation established in a small city outside Central City in 2007. Iris is surprised Linda even got an OK for this. Usually the kind of news Central City Picture News cover is the kind of news that happens _within_ the city. But then her eyes catches on the name of the CEO. Peter Pechalat.

 _Pechalat_. If there’s one name associated with Central City, it’s Pechalat. The famous Pechalat family owns the largest commercial center, along with a number of successful and prestige restaurants and cafés in Central City. It is an open secret that their family has ruled the city politics with money since they settled here decades ago, when Central City wasn’t Central City yet, only a small, rural city with no real infrastructure.

There’s several pages about Peter Pechalat and his family. Iris only skims through the papers before finally finding the information about The Stockmann Water Project itself. The Stockmann Water Project is a company that makes bottled water, its water source being the city’s own spring water. It’s made with Pechalat’s money but the actual work to get it up was done by the city’s citizens. After the airport closed down in 2001, the small city’s biggest income, the city’s economy suffered. The citizens hoped that The Stockmann Water Project will finally stabilize the city’s economy and set the city back on the map. Most of the citizens have already bought their stock in the company.

Iris collects the papers and places them carefully back into the map in chronological order, while her thoughts go a thousand miles per second behind her eyes. Her movements are automatic and she is on autopilot. She isn’t aware of her surroundings before she suddenly finds herself standing beside Linda’s desk.

Linda looks up, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

“I’ll take it,” Iris says.

Linda just nods as if it was already a given and this is just Iris confirming. “We leave tomorrow.”

 

 

When mama left, her dad put everything belonging to her in the little storage room beneath the stairs. All the shoes, all the scrapbooks, all the pictures, all her work. Packed away in tightly sealed gray boxes to be put away. It was like he thought out of sight, out of mind.

But Iris knew. She knew it was there. And so at night, she would sneak downstairs, avoiding the creaking boards, take the key from his study, for so to stand before the storage room. It was already months since she saw her mama. A lifetime in what was her eight years. What was on the other side of the wooden door was forbidden. The thought made the blood pump in her veins even harder.

She put the key in the lock and opened the door.

 

 

That night she goes back to Barry’s old apartment. She decided to rent it after she left Caitlin’s house and she found out it was still available for rent. In her anger, she thought she would find a cheap apartment in the last place her dad and Barry would think to look for her. Hiding in plain sight. Afterwards she realized there probably wasn’t a place in Central City that Cisco and Caitlin couldn’t find her. But then, afterwards, she also realized she didn’t want to just up and disappear, making her family worry if she might be dead someplace in a ditch. That was the last thing she wanted. So she left a short message on her whereabouts on her dad’s cell when she knew he was too busy to pick up.

Not bothering to turn on the light, she walks five steps into the apartment and collapses on the bed, both body and mind exhausted. The apartment is small and sparsely furnished, only a bed and a chair in the two room-apartment. It suits her just fine. The only thing she brought with her was a bag with a few changes of clothes and a pair of sturdy, black training shoes. Perfect if she had to walk over great distances. She hadn’t even unpacked anything, just left everything in the bag.

She lies on the bed for a few minutes, but sits up again before she falls asleep. Her eyes are hurting and she can feel them closing involuntarily, but she needs to pack what little she has for the trip tomorrow. But mostly, it’s because she hasn’t listened to the voice messages on her cellphone yet.

Sitting up with her back leaning on the wall and her knees up to her chin, she closes her eyes to listen to the voices talking.

 

> “ _Hey, Iris. Just wanted to say… I’m sorry. I know you must probably be sick of me telling you that, but I truly, really am. I know it’s not something that—that can be easily excused and I don’t really expect you to forgive me or anything. But—I don’t know what I expected—I just wanted to hear your voice again, I guess._
> 
> _I miss you._
> 
> _Oh, and also, this is Barry, by the_ —“

The message cuts itself off before it finishes, and Iris can’t help but smile fondly. Typical Barry.

The next message plays automatically.

 

> “ _Hi, Iris, it’s me. Today was a slow day at the police station. No metahumans sighted. Mostly I wrote up some late reports and did some of the taxes. Without you reminding me of it even._
> 
> _Eddie’s plaque is finished and is hanging on the wall now. It’s—difficult to see it up there._
> 
> _Barry misses you. I miss you. I hope you come home soon, sweetheart. Until you do, I’ll be safe. I hope you will be too. I love you_.”

Iris falls asleep with wet eyes and those words ringing in her head.

 

 

The next day starts with Iris being startled awake by the cellphone ringing just beside her head. She moans at the feel of her aching shoulders and turns off the alarm on her cell without thinking, but squints at the screen to check the time. 10.05. Suddenly, she is wide awake and she sees **(2) Missed calls** by Linda Park.

“Oh, my god,” she groans and jumps out of bed. She hits the return call-button as she tries to find a new set of clothes. She slept in without changing last night. At least she took her shoes off.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when the call is picked up, before Linda can berate her or even say anything. “I forgot to set my alarm yesterday. It’s no excuse, I know, but I swear it’s never been a problem before—“

“Iris. _Iris._ It’s okay,” Linda says, talking over her. “I figured you overslept. It’s no big deal. There’s no set schedule besides the deadline. We’ll just meet up with the Pechalats after dinner.”

“Oh, thank god,” Iris sighs and falls back onto the bed in relief. “Thanks, Linda.”

“No need,” Linda says. “But it would be good if you could let me into the apartment.”

“Huh,” Iris says, but then she hears knocking on her door.  “Oh. Yeah, just—“

She puts on a new shirt and scrambles across the floor to open the door, and sees Linda, well dressed and fresh, standing just outside, canceling the call on her cellphone.

“Good morning,” Linda says, amusement lacing her voice at the sight of Iris.

“Morning,” Iris says and takes a step aside to let Linda inside. She feels discomfited and a little embarrassment at her tangled mess of a hair and the almost bare apartment, but Linda just looks around at the apartment with a neutral expression. “I just—I’ll just take a short shower. You’re welcome to sit at the chair and take anything from the fridge, if you want. I’m afraid it’s not much though.”

Linda looks at Iris with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. “You know, I was here once before.”

“Before?” Iris asks.

“When Barry lived here,” Linda clarifies and sits on the chair by the bed.

“Oh,” Iris says as she looks around in her bag for a clean towel and some change of clothes. “I’m sorry. My mind is kind of slow in the morning.”

“It’s uncanny,” Linda says.

“What is?” Iris asks and straightens, finally finding everything she needs. She looks over at Linda to see her looking back at her with a faraway expression.

“It’s uncanny,” Linda says, looking at Iris, “how alike you and Barry are.”

Iris faltering on the next step is the only indication of how thrown away she is of hearing his name. Iris waves a hand around. “Like we have each other’s mannerism and speech patterns and stuff?”

“You’ve heard it before,” Linda concludes with a smirk.

“Plenty of times,” Iris says and walks to the bathroom. “I promise to be quick. There’s coffee in the cabinet over the sink, if you would like to make some.”

Linda waves dismissively. “I got it, Iris. Just get ready.”

“Bossy,” Iris mutters as she closes the door, but by the flash of Linda’s smirk she sees, Linda caught it.

There’s no time for her to wash her hair and straighten it afterwards, so she quickly washes her body, dries off and gets dressed. She brushes her teeth, thinking she won’t be eating anything yet because of the late meal she had last night.

In the fogged-up mirror, a girl looks back. She has deep marks under her eyes and very dry lips. Her eyes are slightly red, and her skin has lost its usual glow, leaving a gray tint to her brown skin. She looks tired. She looks so tired that Iris feels even more tired just by looking at her. She smiles and the girl in the mirror smiles hesitantly back.

“It’s okay,” she whispers to her.

She puts on concealer and a show of confidence, and the girl in the mirror turns into a young woman. She walks out the door to Linda. Linda silently holds out a mug of coffee towards her as she takes a sip of her own mug.

“Thanks,” Iris says, and Linda nods in acknowledgement.

“Ready?” Linda asks later.

“I’m ready,” Iris says.

 

 

Before she accepted the assignment, Iris actually hesitated, and the embarrassing thing is that she didn’t hesitate because she was going to be four hours – not counting traffic – away from her dad and Barry, or because she had any doubts about the article. She hesitated because she still wasn’t sure where she stood with Linda, and a four to five hours drive in tense silent was not an ideal situation and something Iris would rather avoid if she could. And the embarrassing display this morning didn’t help either.

But as soon as they sit in the car, Linda turns up the radio and says she drives better if she didn’t need to focus on a conversation at the same time, which suits Iris just fine. After two and a half hour of silent driving though, Iris grows restless, tapping her feet, only stopping after she notices Linda throwing an annoyed glance at her.

“So,” Iris says, leaning her head on the window of the car. “From what I’ve gathered from the documents you sent me, we’re going to write up a reportage, right?”

“Yeah,” Linda says.

“Okay,” Iris says, her eyes never leaving the green landscape they pass by. They drove past the cityscape and through the most heavy traffic an hour ago, and now there was only flat fields of green and yellow as long as eyes could see. She is bored out of her mind and she needs something to distract herself, to keep her mind off the death and destruction that has brought havoc on her life the recent months. She randomly grabs a news story that could work like a topic of conversation from the top her mind. “So, did you hear about the polls?”

“You mean how freaking Ronald Truck is actually gaining votes?” Linda says through gritted teeth and frown. “Yeah, can you believe?”

“No, I know, right,” Iris says, straightening up in her seat, happy to finally find a safe topic to talk about. “How are we actually regressing? He is so blatant in his racism.”

“Piece of poo,” Linda says, and Iris laughs, delighted. “What?”

“You don’t curse?” Iris says, finally looking at Linda with a disbelieving smile.

“Oh, I do,” Linda says and grins. “I just save them up for emergencies.”

“And Ronald “Respective politics are hurting freedom of speech” Truck doesn’t warrant any curse words?” Iris says, making exaggerated quote marks in the air.

“Not yet,” Linda says, stopping at a red light. She looks at Iris with a grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m saving them up. If he actually wins though… Well, if you’re in any close proximity of me then, I’ll make you blush.”

“How old are you?” Iris says.

“What,” Linda says, raising her brows. “There’s an age limit to curse?”

“No,” Iris says and laughs. “Just. I’m not sure if you’re younger or older than me.”

“Younger,” Linda says, setting her car in gear as the light turns green. “I’m twenty-three. You’re twenty-five, right?”

“Twenty-six,” Iris says.

“As long as you’re older than twenty-one,” Linda says. “That’s all that matters.”

“How long have you worked for Picture News?”

“Oh, like – I don’t know – three years? Yeah, around that. I interned there while I was still in college. Ling was impressed by my work.” Linda shrugs. “And the rest is, as they say, history.”

“What was your major?”

“Journalism,” Linda says. “My aim was to become television reporter though, but here we are.”

“Television reporter?”

“Yeah. Well, before that I planned to study medicine.”

“Medicine?”

Linda raises her brows, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “Should I be insulted that you sound so surprised by that?”

“No, no, no,” Iris says quickly, shaking her head. The last thing she wanted was to insult Linda. “It just seemed like a strange jump to make, that’s all. I mean, journalism and medicine is kind of far apart.”

Linda hums.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What,” Linda says again, throwing an amused look at Iris. “You just lost all your subtlety points. Are we really playing twenty questions now?”

“Hey,” Iris says in mock indignation. She crosses her arms. “I’ll tell you that a favorite color tells a lot about a person.”

“Oh yeah? Who says?”

“A person who majored in psychology and criminology.”

Linda raises her brows, impressed.

“I’ll tell you what,” Linda says, tilting her head towards Iris. “I’ll reveal everything about me and my dark past when we get to a diner. We’ve driven three hours and there’s still two hours left. I say we get something.”

“Deal.”

“And I am absolutely planning to get dirt on you too.”

“Ha! You can try.”

 

 

They eat hamburgers in a diner, conversing about hobbies and life, and Iris actually forgets herself and feels happy for a moment. Linda steals Iris’ fries and is hungry enough to order one more hamburger, telling Iris that she can easily use it because she regularly jogs. Iris visibly cringes at that, so Linda continues to tell how she got into training regularly. She tells her how that her parents were doctors, and how it was expected that she would follow in their footsteps. And Iris tells about her searching herself all through middle school to high school, joining and trying out different activities. She wanted to become good at something, anything. She first tried out various sports, from kickboxing (which she was already a little familiar with) to soccer to swimming, and then track. Afterwards she wanted to try out her artistic side and signed up for violin lessons, then piano lessons. She tried to paint, to photograph, and even sew her own clothes.

“So what?” Linda asks between bites of her burger. She licks the sauce of her lips, and Iris lets her gaze slip off her. “You just went through all those things and never settled for anything you found nice?”

“I guess,” Iris says, looking out through the window. The wind was picking up outside, evident by how the trees were slightly bending at their branches. The dark clouds didn’t look promising either. “In the end, I never got _really_ good at one thing, you know? It was just… half-way.”

Linda nods, looking at Iris’ face, but not looking at the same time. Her eyes are hollow, as if she’s seeing through Iris and into something well behind the past. Then, a glass breaking sounds throughout the diner and Linda blinks, her mind seemingly changing tracks back to the present time.

“Yeah,” Linda says absentmindedly. She balls the napkin into her fist.

When they’re done, having to pay a ridiculous amount of money, they have to run to the car parked outside, the sky already pouring down cats and dogs.

“Well,” Linda says, pulling the break. “You got really good at one thing, didn’t you?”

“At what?” Iris asks.

“At,” Linda says, “writing,” and they fall silent, not speaking for the rest of the drive.

 

 

Later, after countless cases of working together and starting to hang out after work, Linda will tell Iris that she was hospitalized for some time during high school. She can still feel the stinging smell of antibiotics and detergents in her nose sometimes, and she will tell her how tiring it was to always, at all times, be surrounded by doctors at the hospital and at home, always asking about her and how she was. Her voice cracks as she tells Iris, and she takes breaks when the words seems to curl around each other and shatter. She bites at her bracelets, dragging the thread before letting it snap back onto her wrist. It leaves red marks.

“The only difference was,” Linda will say, staring up at the ceiling while Iris will stare at her, “that the doctors at the hospital wanted me to become their patient, while the doctors at home wanted me to become a doctor.”

Iris knew, know, will know how much a parent’s expectations can weigh on someone. Because a few years before this conversation happens between her and Linda, she has another conversation with her dad.

“You’re not going, Iris, and this is the end of the discussion,” her dad says and turns his back at her. Barry’s long since left the room, when she could no longer keep the rage from her voice and the yelling started. She can tell by her dad’s weary voice and slumped shoulders that he’s worn out now. They both are.

“But why can’t you just trust me with this?” she asks, sitting heavily down on the sofa. Looking down into her hands seems like the way to go. She can’t bear to look at her dad’s face. “Why can’t you trust the fact that this is what I want? That I might actually be able to do this? I’ve been a cop’s daughter for my whole life. I have been _your_ daughter my whole life. You taught me how to defend myself, and you taught me the importance of family and community. You taught me responsibility and how important it was for those who were able to keep it safe for those who couldn’t. I have _some_ idea of what it means to be a cop. After all, you’ve taught me how to be one my whole life.”

“Iris…”

“No, dad,” she says, sure as few at the edge of seventeen. “I’m an adult now. I can do this.”

“Iris,” he says. He stops and drags a hand over his face, suddenly looking much older. “Iris, you being an adult doesn’t change the fact that you’re my daughter.”

But that is then. This is now:

 

 

“What the,” Iris says to Linda under her breath. “You didn’t tell me they were royalties too.”

They’re sitting in a sofa at the living room in the largest mansion Iris has ever seen. She’s not entirely sure it shouldn’t be categorized as a castle. They had been showed inside by a house cleaner or a butler or something. There’s a balcony inside, for god’s sake.

“Pretty sure the Norwegian king’s castle is smaller than this,” she continues. Linda turns in her seat to stare at her, and Iris shrugs.

“You know weird shit,” Linda says, turning the bracelet in her hand.

“Excuse me, ladies.”

They spring up at the voice, turning towards the man who walked into the room. He is tall, easily six inches taller than Iris, even with her heels on. She knows he’s pushing sixty, but the only signs of age is the graying hair at the temples and wrinkles near his eyes as he smiles at them. His skin is bronzed by the sun. It gives him a charming look, a little soft, a little harmless. She’s sure he could have been a model in his younger age. As they greet each other and she comes up close to him, she notices how the sturdy figure he cuts is due to the heavy muscles and when he shakes her hand she takes notice of the feel of callouses.

“I have to apologize for being so late,” he says as he gestures for them to take a seat.

“Ah, no, no,” Linda reassures and waves a hand around. “There were no problem.”

“No,” Pechalat says, looking to the side and gesturing for a house cleaner, “I had that fixed before coming here, after all.”

And Iris feels shivers crawling up her spine at his tone. He’s not even looking at them anymore, but something in his tone sets her off. Like he could smack away any problem that he deems a problem without any second thoughts. In Pechalat’s world, there was those who supported him or those who were in the way. _This is it,_ Iris thinks, _this is how a person becomes a CEO of a multimillionaire company._

“Any refreshments, ladies?” Pechalat asks and smiles. “Coffee, tea, soda, cocktail, vine?”

“I can do a coke,” Linda says and smiles at the woman standing ready beside Pechalat. “Thank you…?”

The women, just a girl really, looks stunned for a moment, and actually looks around as if she can’t be sure she’s the one being addressed. “Oh,” the girl says, “oh, I’m Camilla. Nice to meet you.”

Linda nods with a smile, and then everyone turns to Iris.

“Oh, just water, please,” Iris says. “Camilla.”

Camilla smiles and nods before walking off.

Pechalat turns them with a smile but a faraway look, as if he’s contemplating something. Any other time Iris would have been curious, would have tried to break into his mind and try to guess what he was thinking and why. But this time she has no interest.

She glances to her side and catches Linda’s gaze, and just like that, Linda picks up the thread and does the most of the talking, asking the questions that needs to be asked and being cordially as ever. Iris promises herself to treat Linda to a meal or something expensive as she lets the conversation fly over her head, only talking when directly addressed.

“Peter, _din jævel_ , where are you, you fuckin’ bastard?”

The pleasant smile on Pechalat sours immediately and he rises from his seat before the other man who yelled comes into the room.

“Excuse me, ladies, it seems like another problem have decided—“

He gets interrupted when the other man comes forward and shoves Pechalat into his seat again without breaking his stride. “You don’t think I’d catch you, huh, Peter? You’d think you’d get away with this, treating everything as one of your poker games, huh?  You’re cheating people, you fucking fuck, I knew Laura shouldn’t have married you—“

“Thomas,” Pechalat interrupts, touching the other man’s – Thomas’ – wrist. His expression hasn’t changed during Thomas’ tirade and he’s sitting in a comfortable sprawl as if there’s not a man who looks angry enough to seriously consider doing some damage to his person, looming over him. He didn’t even raise his voice to catch Thomas’ attention.

“Thomas,” Pechalat says again, “have you met Linda Park and Iris West? They are journalists here to report about our new project.”

Only then does Thomas seems to notice them, and he stares dumbfounded at them as Iris waves awkwardly and Linda gives a sharp nod. They all stand in silence and stare at each other in a frozen moment, before it melts away and Thomas turns back towards Pechalat with a snarl. “You tell them to leave. Now, Peter. I’m not letting you go before we get this discussion done, you understand?”

“I understand, Tom,” Pechalat says, rising and forcing Thomas to take a step back. Pechalat smiles at Iris and Linda, and they smile hesitantly back. He leads the way out of the room and they follow.

“I am so, so sorry for Thomas,” Pechalat says as soon as they’re out in the hallway. “That’s what one has to expect from people, unfortunately, when you hold a lot of money, even from family.”

“Brother?” Linda asks, raising an eyebrow.

Pechalat laughs a short, boisterous laugh and shakes his head. “No. No, thank god. Brother-in-law.”

“Ah,” Linda says, as if she has one herself, which Iris knows for a fact Linda does not have.

Pechalat apologizes one more time before promising to meet early tomorrow. They say their goodbyes and leaves, and as they drive away, Iris asks, “So? Connected to the project, you think?”

Linda doesn’t speak for minute, just chewing loudly on her gum she got from a pack she found between the car seats. She blows a bubble.

“I don’t know,” she says and continues to chew. “But I don’t think I buy his reassurances either. He’s slicker than an eel. But it doesn’t hurt to investigate, does it?”

“Famous last words,” Iris says and Linda laughs sharply. They both know Iris didn’t mean it as a joke.

 

 

They had agreed to share a hotel room, saving them some expenses.

“So,” Iris says, putting the clothes hanger with her green dress in her designated closet. “Why me anyway?”

Linda – who raised her eyebrow when she saw that Iris actually unpacked her clothes rather than just letting them be and pick something whenever she needed it from the bag – is lying slumped against the pile of pillows she built on her bed, taking Iris’ pillows too. She’s holding the TV remote, changing channels and muttering occasional comments when she comes across some ridiculous reality show or silly cartoon. She ended eventually on a news channel, mouthing back whatever the news anchor was saying. At the nightstand beside her is a bag of chips from a convenience store they passed by on the way to the hotel, and her hand is moving in a continuous motion between the bag and her mouth.

She shrugs at Iris’ question, not even bothering to misunderstand the question. “I figured you wanted out of the city, and this assignment turned up. I needed a partner. You were a convenient choice.”

“Did Barry call you?”

Linda glances at her, holding a potato chip between her lips. “Not gonna lie – he did. He sounded out of it, so I told him that you came to work and that you seemed fine. For a definition of ‘fine’, I guess.”

Iris snorts, knowing she hasn’t taken care of herself the way she usually did these days.

“Listen,” Linda says, stopping at a channel showing some kind of romantic comedy. “I’m not interested in this spat you guys are in, or whatever. I don’t want to get involved. To be honest, I thought I was finished getting all tangled up in your— _complicated_ business. But I wanted someone with me on this, and you were there.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t actually need me on this assignment, did you?” Iris asks, putting her jacket on another coat hanger, her back turned to Linda so she can’t see her expression. But she can hear her voice.

“What do you mean?” Linda asks in a carefully measured voice.

“You needed help writing an easy reportage of a company that makes bottled water?” Iris says, sharply exhaling through her nose. Linda took the bait. She turns around to face her. “Please.”

“Didn’t you read the documents I gave you?” Linda asks, frowning at the television. “I’m pretty sure it’s written there why it’s important.”

“Yeah,” Iris says and walks over to sit on the other bed. “You predict it’s going to provide a huge financial benefit to the city, making it an actual city again.”

“So you see.”

“Nope,” Iris says and looks at her nails. She cringes at the sight of them. She swore off her habit to bite her nails, but it’s come back because of the stress lately.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Linda says, turning off the TV. She turns towards Iris. “What do you think I’m doing then?”

“I think you’re not really interested in company,” Iris says, meeting Linda’s eyes head-on. “I think you’re interested in something other than that, and this assignment serves as a good cover.”

Linda raises her eyebrow, making a tiny gesture for her to move on.

“I think you’re interested in the man behind the company,” Iris say, leaning slightly forward to gauge Linda’s face. “Or rather, the Pechalat family.”

Linda shifts, straightening her sitting position. “Good one, Iris. And what do you think I’ll do?”

“I guess you want to expose them. It’s no secret their business is not entirely clean. No business flourishing like theirs are really clean.”

“Okay,” Linda says, holding the palms of both her hands against each other in front of her. “Okay. Hypothetically, if that was my goal, how would I go about that? They’re one of the most powerful families in Central City. I’m pretty sure they’re one of Central City Picture News’ biggest funders. And remember the last one who tried to do something like that?”

“He got sued for libel and put away,” Iris says. “It was the most prolific case in decades.”

“Right,” Linda says and nods. “Why do you think I want to risk that and kill my career?”

“That part I’m not sure of yet,” Iris says, looking at Linda with narrowed eyes. “But I’m right, aren’t I? This was always about the Pechalat family.”

Linda looks at her for a beat before smirking. “And that’s why.”

“Why-- what?” Iris asks, her head swirling at the change of pace.

“That’s why I chose you,” Linda says, leaning forward as if she’s about to tell a deeply hidden secret. “Listen Iris. If I’m gonna do this, I need a keen mind and someone who can connect the leads. You are that. You do that. That’s why I need you.”

“Oh,” Iris says, momentarily struck speechless by the intensity in Linda’s eyes. “But – I mean, I don’t want to get weird with you – but I thought you didn’t like me?”

Linda leans back on the pillows, laughing and shaking her head. “I’m going to be honest with you, because that’s only fair. It’s true. I didn’t like for a long time. For some time I kind of resented you even. But you’re cool. I mean, we might not become best friends, but giving it time, I think we can become good friends.”

“What,” Iris says, raising an eyebrow and tilting her voice sardonically in an imitation of Linda. “I thought we already were friends.”

Linda blinks, and Iris holds her breath until Linda smiles in pleasant surprise. “Huh. I guess we are,” she say, shrugging sheepishly.

And then they just look each other, sharing a moment of quite understanding and smiles, before Linda rises to get something to counter all the salt she just consumed.

“Anyway,” Linda says, leaning down to get a coke from the minibar. She turns her head to look at Iris in a silent question, but Iris just shakes her head. She can’t afford small indulgences now. Especially small, incredibly expensive indulgences from a three star hotel. “After some thought, I figured it wasn’t really you who I was angry at. If there’s any blame to assign here, it wasn’t on any of us.”

Iris flinches on the unspoken name hanging between them.

“Sorry,” Linda says, sitting down on the middle of her bed and crosses her legs. “Sensitive topic?”

Iris shrugs, picking at a loose thread on the seam of the pillow. “I guess.”

Linda takes a sip from her can of coke, looking at her over the edge. “So, like, did you guys break up or something?”

Iris looks over at her, showing her how unimpressed she is, but Linda is already cringing at the words from her mouth. “Okay, wow, even I have to admit that was thoughtless of me. Sorry.”

Iris sighs, lies down and pulls the duvet over her. On the other bed, Linda tries to aim the empty can of coke at the small trashcan standing at the opposite side of the room. She throws it, but it hits the wall just over the trashcan, ricocheting and landing on the floor.

“I’m picking it up tomorrow,” Linda mutters and lies down on her side, her head on the pillows.

This way, they are facing each other, and Linda looks at her, opening her mouth to say something, then closes it, then opens it once more.

“I say thoughtless, ignorant shit sometimes,” she says. “And sometimes I get too caught up with my own stuff; I forget to say the right things. And it’s so ridiculous, because I feel I’m above that. I always say to myself that I’m a straightforward person, but the truth is, probably 40 percent of everything I say is me just rambling. Good thing I didn’t become a TV reporter, right?”

“I’m sorry, Iris,” she continues. “For Eddie.”

Iris only leans over to shut off the lights and doesn’t mention how she can see Eddie at the edge of her vision.

 

 

After her dad finds out about her and Eddie, she decides to introduce Wally to Eddie. Wally is of course already aware of who Eddie is, as Wally was one of the first people she told when they got together, but she is reeling in anticipation to finally let two of the four most important men in her life officially meet. (The other two important men being, of course, her dad and Barry.) Afterwards she will look back on the meeting not believing she ever thought it was going to be okay.

She brings Eddie with her home because she is way too excited to sit calmly in a café and wait for her Boy Wonder. Wally finally found some space in his busy college life to actually visit and right about now he’ll probably be packing out his clothes in the old guest room, which, if the whole West family are going to be honest with themselves, have been Wally’s room since he was nine years old.

“Iris,” Eddie says from behind the wheel. “I am really sorry that I was late from work, baby, but I can’t drive any faster than this, or I’d have to arrest myself.”

Iris pouts, and even though Eddie is focusing on the road, he is wearing a smile, letting Iris know that he knows what she’s doing. “I know, I know,” she says, putting her hands up. “I just really wanted to be there to be the first one to greet him, you know?”

“Sounds more like you would have picked him up from the airport,” Eddie says dryly. “Or taken Joe’s car and driven up to his university to pick him up from there.”

She laughs. “Jealous?”

“Of your cousin?” Eddie asks and glances at her from his peripheral. “No, not really. Not until you mentioned it. Is there something I should know?”

“Nope,” she says with cheer. “Just that you’re right. I probably would have driven all the way up there to pick him myself.”

Eddie hums. He stops the car at a red light, and turns towards her. “You’re very tight with your cousin.”

It’s not a statement and not a question, but she frowns out the windshield either way and nods sharply, only once. “His family wasn’t always good to him. His parents was neglectful, just counting on him to feed himself and find his way to school and back. My dad tried to adopt him, but since child security couldn’t find anything, they didn’t let him.”

She punches the side door in anger, and laughs without humor. “It was the first time the justice system had truly failed me.”

“My dad wasn’t really close with his sister at this point, but they made an agreement. Whenever Wally had it too rough, he would call dad, and dad would take him for a few weeks, sometimes months, letting him take a break from the environment at his home. Sometimes it feels like I grew up with both him and Barry under the same roof. They’re both my best friends, really. But Wally— Wally’s my _brother_.”

She looks at Eddie and he looks back at her, solemn and catching everything she’s not saying. Looking into his blue eyes, she feels her love for this man can make her heart grow physically bigger just from the weight of it all.

Distracted by each other, none of them notices how the traffic light turns green until a car behind honks at them. Iris smiles at how Eddie flustered shifts the gear and get the car moving, raising a hand in apology to the driver behind them.

“Aww,” Iris says, watching Eddie’s red ears. “That’s no good, Ed. You have to watch the road.”

“Why, when I have a much better view right beside me,” he says and glances at her for a reaction.

“Oooh, suave man, that Eddie,” she says and whistles under her breath, just the way Wally taught her.

“Hah.”

“But seriously, I could drive better than you, and I haven’t even taken the driver license yet.”

“While we’re on the subject, why _haven’t_ you taken the driver license?”

Iris shrugs. “Not any particular reason. I don’t really go outside the city much, or even the ten kilometer radius around my house. There’s never been any need. And, well, never enough time. And taking the bus or train leaves me with a smaller ecological footprint.”

“I didn’t know you cared for the environment,” Eddie says, turning his car into the street where the West family’s house lies, at the end of the street.

“I try to, at least,” Iris says. “I was in a social justice club in high school, and several of them were big on environment issues. They imprinted on me, I guess.”

Eddie laughs, the kind of laugh that rings warm in her ear and feel giddy all over again, and every time she hears it, she falls a little more in love. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

When he stops the car by the house, he leans over at her and kisses her. It’s just a chaste thing, nothing risky when they can be seen from the house by her dad, but it makes her smile even more, and she didn’t think it would be possible.

In front of the door, she takes his hand and runs her other hand through his still slightly damp hair. “You ready?”

He visibly swallows and looks down at her a little helpless and she can’t help herself but coo a little inside. “It feels like I’m here to meet your mother.”

She thinks of her former boyfriends and girlfriends and how Wally had insisted, or more like demanded, to meet them all and vet them himself, and when he couldn’t, always asked her how they treated her and if she was happy through the phone or skype. Even with Shams, whom Wally in the end came to look up to, he was cross with at the beginning. She thinks of how she described Eddie as “Detective Pretty Boy” at the beginning of their acquaintance and his surprise when she said that they were together.

“Uhm, probably,” she says and snickers at the way he sharply inhales. She squeezes her hand in reassurance. “No worries. He’s more of a brother. He’ll love you.”

“If you says so,” Eddie says, a tilt in his mouth saying he’s doubting that very much. But then he squeezes her hand back, looking at her with a grateful look. “I’m so happy you’re with me.”

“I’m so happy you’re with me too,” she says and hopes he knows that she doesn’t just means in this instance.

By the softening of his eyes, he caught it.

Knowing that the initial meeting is the most grueling moment, she opens the doors to get this over with.

“Wally,” she shouts into the house, dragging her boyfriend behind her. “Hey, Boy Wonder, where are you?”

“Careful,” she hears someone, and out of nowhere, Wally is there, walking up to her with open arms, and she steps up to meet him in a crushing hug that is just right. “Dick might hear you.”

“Whatever,” she says. “He’ll live. Besides, you’re _my_ Boy Wonder.”

“Knew you were my favorite sister, Iris,” he says and lifts her up and actually swirls her around. Iris giggles. “Put me down!”

“As you wish,” he says and puts her down. She looks at him and with relief, she unlocks the muscles she’s been holding tense unconsciously. He is looking downright _good_ , with his full color back onto his cheek, a warm dark brown. His cheekbones looks a little _too_ sharp, but that might just be from the fatigue from being a busy college student. His hair is neat and cut short, and his eyes are clear and focused.

“I’m your only sister, dude,” she says and swats at his arm.

“Ouch,” he says in mock hurt. “The Iris Death Punch just thirty seconds within reunion… Whatever have I deserved this for?”

She rolls her eyes at his dramatics, but she can begin to feel her cheeks hurting from how wide she’s smiling. She turns towards Eddie, who has been looking on with wide eyes and tight lips.

“Wally, this is my boyfriend, a police detective with Central City Police, Eddie Thawne,” she says and takes Eddie’s hand in hers. “And Eddie, this is my brother in everything but blood, Wally West.”

Wally takes one look at Eddie, and drawls, “Well, well. I can see why you and Joe called him ‘Detective Pretty Boy.’”

 

 

Afterwards, Wally turns to her and say, “I’ve kinda resigned myself to you marrying a white boy, but it wasn’t _this_ white boy I thought of.”

And she says, “Marry? Aren’t you moving this thing too fast, Flash?”

He snickers.

 

 

The next morning they wait for Pechalat in the lobby after eating a heavy breakfast.

(“It’s like a three course meal,” Iris had remarked as Linda come back to their table with what was probably her final plate, holding croissants and cookies.

“And I’m totally going to exploit it while we’re here,” Linda had said, taking a bite. )

After waiting half an hour past the scheduled time, Linda finally gets a call from Pechalat, who apologizes but tells them something came up at work, which demanded his immediate attention. So he sent his daughter to pick them up.

A young woman in black sunglasses and a white dress comes in through the doors right after the call ends as if summoned, looking around, before finally noticing them and walks towards them with intent.

“West and Park, right?” she says, lifting her glasses to place them on her head. She puts out a hand in front of her, shaking their hands in turn. “Penelope Pechalat. I’ll be your ride today, by my father’s orders.”

Penelope Pechalat cannot be more than five feet tall, but her presence demands attention, making her seem taller. Her blonde hair is cut to shoulder-length, a little longer in the front than the back and bangs framing her face. With her bright, green eyes and freckles, it gives her a young and spunky look.

She practically pushes them outside, leading them to her car, a white BMW. Iris glances at Linda, but Linda gives an almost unnoticeable shake of her head, making Iris ride shotgun.

“I’m sorry for my father,” Penelope says as they drive out of the parking lot. “I’m sure he explained to you that something came up.”

“Oh, of course,” Iris says, giving a sympathetic nod of her head even though Penelope can’t see her. “We understand. It’s already nice enough of Pechalat to give so much time of his day for us. We couldn’t possibly demand anymore.”

Iris feels a tap on her right shoulder, a sign of approval from Linda, and by Penelope’s smile, she’s also pleased.

“Oh, I like you, West,” Penelope says. “Maybe this won’t turn to be such a hassle for me, after all. And father really is sorry. Every media coverage we can get on the company is good PR, as they say.”

“As they say,” Iris agrees.

“I’ll try to be a good guide and answer your questions to the best of my ability,” she continues. “To the extent I can and am allowed to say, of course.”

“Thank you,” Iris says, and Penelope waves a hand as if saying ‘don’t mention it’.

Before long, they stand in the company itself, a huge, grey block beside the waters – “Short way of transportation,” Penelope says. “Eco-friendly and safe.” – but otherwise unremarkable by itself. What makes it is the employees bustling around them, all determined and focused to get the job done. When Linda asks if they could ask some questions to the employees, Penelope shows them a room where they can interview some them. Everyone they ask paints a picture perfect of the company, all of them happily pointing out how much this means to the city and its citizens and how the company means tremendously to themselves.

“This is really fucking creepy,” Linda mutters under her breath as their last interviewee closes the door behind them.

Iris braces her elbow on the table, leaning her head on her hand. “How?”

“Nah,” Linda says, slowly shaking her head. “I might just see ghosts where there’s none, but… I don’t know.” Linda turns towards her. “What do you think?”

Iris leans back on her chair and tilts her head in thought for a second. “To be honest,” Iris says, turning and looking Linda into her eyes. “I’m not so sure there’s anything suspicious going on here. All of them looked satisfied with the company’s conduct and treatment of the workers. And it is a huge financial benefit to the city, as you yourself have pointed out.” She nudges Linda in the elbow before rising from her chair. “Come on. Let’s go meet up with Penelope and ask her if we can get some shoots of the place to be featured in the article.”

“Sure,” Linda says, looking up at Iris with narrowed eyes. Iris only smiles as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but flicks her gaze towards the corner of the room before turning around, packing her bag. She hopes Linda got her message.

_There’s cameras here. Who is to say there isn’t audio tapes too?_

Penelope is waiting for them outside of the room, finishing a message on her phone, before walking up to meet them.

“So?” she asks.

“It was very insightful,” Iris says. “Seems like you treat your employees pretty good.”

“Of course we do,” she says, waving her hand as if that went without saying and suggesting anything else would be ridiculous. “So, what now?”

“I would like to just go around the site a little,” Linda says, lifting the camera she has in her hands. “Taking some pictures. Is that allowed?”

Penelope raises an eyebrow, taken back by Linda’s scathing tone, but recovers quickly, slipping into a nonchalant expression, condescension lacing her voice as she say, “I don’t see why not.”

Linda only nods sharply, before passing them both. Penelope says, “after you,”, scowling at Linda’s back before turning to look at Iris as if asking _what’s her problem?_ Iris can only smile sheepishly and shrug apologetic. She doesn’t know either why Linda seems to have taken an instant dislike to Penelope. Penelope rolls her eyes.

“Well,” she says, straightening imaginary creases in her already impeccable dress and looks at Iris, “any questions to me?”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” Iris says, taking out her notepad and pen. “I mean, if Linda is allowed to walk around alone…?”

Penelope shrugs as if either way is okay with her, going back to the room Iris and Linda just were in. “As long as she doesn’t disturb anyone and doesn’t go into any of the restricted areas, I don’t see why not. I wouldn’t mind if we could sit while doing this though.”

They sit opposite each other, the table between them, Penelope looking out the window, Iris looking through her notes and question on her pad. She places a sound recorder on the table, to which Penelope raises her eyebrows at, but doesn’t say anything.

Iris looks silently at Penelope, trying to find a question to spin around, all the while trying to place her age. She looks like she’s at Iris’ age, but at the same time, older. High-class society. “So, what’s your position on the company?”

“As in, my opinion on its localization, policies and such? Or the work I do for the company?”

“Both. Either. Whatever you’d like to answer.” Iris shrugs. “This isn’t really a planned interview, as I was supposed to—“

“Meet my father,” Penelope say, shifting in her seat to cross her legs. “Right?”

“Yes,” Iris nods. “So feel free to say whatever you feel like. I just have to warn you that I’m recording right now, so everything you say, I can use. But you’re steering the show, so however much or however little you want to say is up to you.”

Penelope looks at Iris and nods. “So, I am just meant to see this a normal conversation, is that right?”

Iris smiles sheepishly and shrugs, as Penelope looks on amused.

“Well. To answer your question, you probably already know this, but I have two older brothers. As such, my involvement in the company isn’t strictly necessary.”

“But you studied business management and economics, right?”

Penelope’s eyebrows lift up under her bangs. “Someone’s done they’re research, I understand. Then you probably also know that my father is rather… traditional, for a lack of a better word. That isn’t a secret. Even if I was first-born, the company would go to his first-born son.”

“That’s,” Iris says, “very… traditional.”

Penelope nods with a self-deprecating smile.

“But clearly you had some ambition to inherit one of your father’s companies,” Iris say.

“Is that a fact?” Penelope says.

“I don’t know,” Iris says. “Is it?”

Penelope only looks at her in silence. Her back is ramrod straight where she sits, her hands laying on her thighs. It should look totally abnormal, or at least make her gesture look like she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but Penelope makes it work, making her look like calm and forcing people to take her as serious and professional. She looks – not relaxed, that wouldn’t be the right word – but not tense either. Just determined to do the work and do it right.

“Right,” Iris sighs and leans back on the chair. “No comment. Well, there’s been rumors that one of your brother’s backing out. Is there something to that?”

Penelope tilts her head to side, looking out the window, as if she hadn’t even heard a question. Iris can see how the view over the waters and the greens surrounding it can be captivating, but she doubts that it is that interesting for someone who must come here a lot for work.

“There’s also been some rumors that you are more involved in the work than your brothers,” Iris says, tapping her pen idly on the table.

“How so?” Penelope asks, finally turning away from the window and looks at the pen.

Iris drops the pen and leans forward. “That you’re using one of them as your smoke screen.”

“Interesting theory.”

Iris sighs. “But not one you’d care to comment, I guess?” she says and falls back to the chair.

“I had the impression you were interested in the company and not in me personally,” Penelope says and, if it is possible, straightens her posture. “This shouldn’t be relevant.”

“Of course, of course,” Iris says, waving her hand. “Idle curiosity. If it were me, I would want some credit at least.”

Penelope purses her lips, and Iris curses herself out in her head for really putting her foot in her mouth this time. But Penelope only closes her eyes for a short minute.

“As an educated member of my family,” Penelope says finally, wryly, with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m not without merit.”

“Well,” Iris says, recognizing a dead-end. “Why don’t we move on? So why this city anyway? Does your family have any ties?”

“My mother,” Penelope answer, nodding. “She was the daughter of one of the farmers here.”

“Oh,” Iris says. “So she was the one to take initiative?”

“That you have to ask them,” Penelope says and shakes her head. “They gave the impression that it was a joint idea.”

“So they wanted to help the city,” Iris says, picking up the file Linda gave her. She flicks through the pages, stopping at the page about Penelope’s mother showing a picture of a classically beautiful woman with hard eyes and sharp cheekbones. Laura Pechalat, née Linné, has been described as a tough person and an even harder businessperson by the media time and time again. Her story is one of rags to riches, the daughter of a lone farmer in a small village, her mother out of the picture from a long time ago.

“She fled the city after High School,” Iris say, looking up at Penelope.

“That is correct.”

“Why?” Iris says, closing the file and putting it at the table. “I mean, to move away so young, so fast… It would suggest that your mother really wouldn’t want anything with the city.”

Penelope looks out the window again, pushing her bangs to the side. She’s clearly weighing whether to answer and what, and Iris lets her take her time.

“My mother’s family was involved in a scandal,” Penelope says suddenly, still looking out the window. “She and her father wasn’t very well liked at that point, so she left.”

She turns towards Iris with narrowed eyes, finally showing cracks in her façade. “That’s it. If you want to know more, it’s public knowledge here. But I was of the impression your paper was serious news and not popular news.”

“Touché,” Iris says and smiles. “I try to cover all grounds. But clearly this was a wrong turn.”

“Clearly,” Penelope says.

“What about the other members of your family? How was their reactions and how is their participation?”

“As far as I know, everyone was, and still is, positive to the company’s direction,” Penelope says.

Something nags at the back of Iris’ mind, when she suddenly remembers last evening. “What about your mother’s brother? Your uncle Thomas, was it?”

Penelope blinks slowly, trying to come off as relaxed, but Iris didn’t miss the way she had instantly tensed up at the mention of Thomas.

“What about Uncle Thomas?”

“I heard he had some interjections against the company?”

Penelope drops her gaze to the table and says, “I wouldn’t know.”

Iris hums and makes a mental note to check out Thomas Pechalat afterwards.

“Either way,” Iris says and smiles, “it’s going to help the city out, right? After the airport closed?”

“That is the plan, yes,” Penelope says. “The airport closed after an incident, which I don’t know much about.”

“It was for commercial flights, right?” Iris asks.

“Yes,” Penelope nods, then frowns in thought. “I think it also was used by the military for a period of time. Test piloting and such.”

Iris writes it idly down, thinking it might be worth to check out as well later on, when Penelope clears her throat. Iris looks up. “I’m sorry, I think I want to end the interview here. I wish I could be more of a help, but really, my father seems more equipped to answer the questions.”

“Of course,” Iris says, leaning over to shut off the sound recorder. “It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable or be invasive in any way.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Penelope says and smiles, pushing at her bangs.

There’s a tense silence as Iris packs away her pad and sound recorder, Iris hoping that she didn’t ring any of Penelope’s alarms. She seemed like a smart woman, even when it seemed like she tried to downplay her intelligence.

When Iris straightens and looks at Penelope, she is looking down at her phone with her lips pursed. If it was a clap mobile, not an iPhone, Iris would wager that Penelope would have closed it with a snap movement.

“Bad news?” Iris asks.

“Well, my father is held up with an inconvenience, so he won’t be able to meet up with you today,” Penelope says. “He will hopefully meet you tomorrow, but as an apology, let me take you and Park to dinner.”

“Oh,” Iris says quickly. “There’s really no need for any apology. If there is, we—“

“Please let me,” Penelope says, smiling sugary. “Or else my father won’t let me stop hearing it.”

“Okay,” Iris says. “Let me just call Linda.”

It doesn’t take must to get Linda and they all meet up by the entrance before rounding up in Penelope’s car and driving away.

 

 

“I’ll take the roasted Salmon,” Penelope says, smiling up at the waiter. She turns to look at Linda and Iris with raised brows, waiting for them to place their orders.

Iris is too busy staring incredulous at the prices on the menu, while Linda murmurs under her breath, “I can’t even pronounce half of this stuff.”

“Uhm,” Iris says, closing her menu. It’s ends are covered in pelt, and the table is decorated with expensive glass. In front of every seat is a plate and way too much cutlery that Iris doesn’t know what to do with. When a waiter seated them, Penelope had taken the napkin and laid it on her lap with elegant ease, which Linda and Iris imitated, not so elegantly. Iris will probably use the whole dinner focused on trying not to spill on the pristine, white tablecloth. It’s not like she’s not been to fancy restaurants before, but she feels unprepared, oddly out of place, and it doesn’t help that she’s probably underdressed. “You’ve been here before? Why don’t you order for us? Anything that you’d recommend.”

“Oh,” Penelope says, her eyes widening. Seems like she finally caught on that not everyone is comfortable. “We could always change restaurants if you prefer something else to eat.”

“No!” Linda says. Iris and Penelope jumps in their seats and turns to look at her. Some of the nearby guests throws glares in their direction at the exclamation before turning back to their food.

“No,” Linda says, calmer. “It’s good. I’m not allergic to anything. You, Iris?”

Iris shakes her head minutely.

“So it’s your call, Ms. Pechalat,” Linda says, locking eyes with Penelope as she leans back in to her seat. Iris wants to roll her eyes at Linda’s slouched form, clearly meant to be taunting, and decides to ask what her deal is with Penelope later. For now, she settles for a kick to Linda’s shin under the table.

Penelope picks up the challenge with narrowed eyes and a sharp whip of her head. She orders something rapidly at the waiter and, with a questioning look at them both, three glasses of wine.

The conversation isn’t as tense as it could have been with Iris maneuvering the talk to safe, generic topics and Linda apparently deciding to finally bite her tongue and play nice. Sure, there’s some scathing remarks and silent, awkward pauses in the conversation, but all in all, not bad.

At some point, Iris rises from her chair and leans over the table to get the salt, when Penelope makes a noise and reaches towards Iris.

To the rings hanging around her neck.

She touches the rings, and Iris flinches back without thinking, making the chair rattle behind her. Penelope’s eyes widens, her mouth open in surprise.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Penelope says, slowly moving her hand back to the table. “I didn’t—I didn’t think. That was very rude of me. I apologize. It was just—that’s some pretty jewelry.”

Sitting down, Iris can only smile, willing her racing heart to slow down. Linda looks on with a concerned expression, and reaches slowly out towards Iris’ arm, enough time so that Iris can move away from the touch if she wants to, but she welcomes it.

“You okay?” Linda says in a hushed voice. Iris smiles and nods in thanks. Linda gives her arm a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

Penelope had looked down at her plate during the exchange, but looked up when Iris called her name.

“Hey, thanks,” Iris says. “I was just surprised and overreacted a little.”

Penelope smiles a little shamefaced. “I’m sorry either way. But they’re really beautiful.” She nods towards the jewelry that’s now laying on top of Iris’ shirt. “Where did you get them?”

“They were… handed to me.”

Penelope’s smile dims a little. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t know where to get one. But they didn’t come together? That’s interesting. That explains why the rings are in slightly different styles. You collect rings?”

“No, she don’t,” Eddie says. “That would be very macabre considering they’re rings belonging to dead people.”

“No, I don’t,” Iris says, holding the knife and fork just that little tighter. “Just. Sentimental value.”

“I see,” Penelope says, still looking at the rings. “I really like the one with diamonds engraved around the whole band. Subtle and classy.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “Took months out of my pay, but I picked that one by myself. Well, I got some tips from mom, but mostly myself. And you said I didn’t have any clue about what’s classy. You need to trust me more, Iris. I was nearly your future husband, you know.”

“Thanks,” Iris says, and downs the rest of her wine in one go. Using the napkin to the wipe her mouth, she rises and takes her purse. “I need to visit the restroom for a minute.”

“Take your time,” Penelope says, a little stunned at the sudden mood change. “I think we’re all nearly done. I’ll just pick up the bill.”

“Yeah, take your time,” Eddie says. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

Iris nods stiffly, not able to not catch the sight of Eddie in her peripheral sight, leaning on the table beside Penelope. Linda tries to catch her gaze, but she avoids her probing eyes, and ignores her as she passes her by on the walk to the ladies room.

She’s thankful that Linda doesn’t try to follow her. Inside the restroom she’s fortunately alone, no one to witness her meltdown. She splashes some cold water on her face, not caring of the water that trickles down her arms and wets her shirt. In the mirror is a young woman and she doesn’t look like Iris at all.

“Am I going delusional?” Iris says to her reflection.

“I don’t know,” her reflection says. “But isn’t the first sign to talk to yourself?”

“I should probably stop doing that then,” Iris says, her voice climbing in tone and starting to get an edge of hysteria.

“Probably,” her reflection says.

Penelope drives them back to the hotel with an invitation to meet up again before they leave. Linda and Iris answer that they’d try to wrangle some time, but can’t promise anything because of work. When they take the elevator up to their floor, Iris can feel Linda looking at her through the corner of her eye, but she pretends she doesn’t notice. Her head feels too heavy on her neck so she lets it roll back onto the wall behind her and closes her eyes. The next thing she knows Linda snaps her fingers in her face, an amused smile on her face.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Linda says and takes her arm. “We’re here.”

Linda leads her to their room by the arm, but as soon as she closes the door behind them, Iris feels more awake.

“You okay?” Linda asks, looking away from her, giving her some time to get herself together, and Iris is so thankful.

“I’ll be,” Iris says with a quiet smile. “I just need some time. I’ll go outside on the balcony a little, okay?”

“Sure,” Linda says casually and sits down on her bed. Before Iris steps outside though, Linda says, “I’m here. You know that?”

Iris throws a smile over her shoulder. “I know, Linda. Thank you.”

Linda gives her a one-shouldered shrug, her attention seemingly occupied by the TV.

Outside the air has turned cold, and backlit with the light from the hotel room, her breath is unusually visible as she exhales. The sky is clear and the moon is full. She can see some stars out, making her remember a distant conversation from what seems like so long ago. She sits on one of the chairs, crossing her legs against the cold, and takes out her phone. As has become usual these days, she has voice messages waiting for her. But this time there’s four rather than two.

 

> “ _Hi hon. Nothing unusual at the station either, but the new detective who is going to work with me arrived today. Her name’s Patty Spivot. She—She reminds me a bit of you, in fact. I can hear you yell ‘sexist’ at me over the phone as I say this, but it’s going to be hard. She’s your age too. But I’m going to try and put away any of my doubts and treat her as I treated—as I treat my other coworkers. My conscience speaks in your voice and I’ll try to follow it. Call soon and be safe. I love you.”_

“And I you, dad,” Iris says into the dark night, suddenly feeling very homesick. She hasn’t been home in _weeks_. Her old childhood home. She misses her room with the abundance of pillows and embarrassing posters of old celebrities she doesn’t know the name of anymore. She misses the spacious kitchen, eating with Barry at the table while her dad bustles around them, getting ready for work. But mostly, she misses her dad and his hugs and how he would whisper that everything would be all right and kiss her forehead in promise.

“Man,” Iris says and slouches down in her chair. “Being an adult is not fun.”

She presses play on the next message, and straightens up in her chair when a decidedly not Barry-like voice comes through the speakers.

 

> “ _Hi Iris. This is Caitlin. I head you were out of city for some work. Uhm, I just called to ask you if you want to go out to do something? Whenever you come back, of course. Yeah, so, this is my number. Don’t feel obligated, of course, this can be just between us. Or with other people you want to bring along. Yes. So. Call anytime, okay? Hope you have a good trip. Bye._ ”

Iris blinks in surprise when she recognizes the voice, but then have to smile at the way Caitlin voice goes up towards the end of her sentences. Iris decides to send her a text message.

**To: Caitlin Snow**

_Hi Caitlin. Iris here. Going out sounds great! I’ll call you when I’m back home so we can make plans. See you!_

She presses play on the next message, and can’t help but grin as Barry’s voice comes through.

 

> “ _—up, Cisco! Hey, Iris, guess what? I overheard Caitlin talk to Cisco about whether or not to invite you to do something. She sounded nervous, man, I can’t even believe. I didn’t know that you two had become closer friends. And she became so nervous when she found out that I had listened. I said that she should totally go for it. Having you as a friend is the best thing that has happened to me. So I hope she takes contact. Anyway, Joe’s new partner began today. Patty Spivot. She—_ “

Iris rolls her eyes. “Barry, you really need to learn how to send voice messages.”

 

> “ _Jesus, this phone keeps cutting me off! … Aaand now I just realized that there must be a reason for that. I’m sorry for the constant babbling. This must be annoying for you. For all I know your deleting the messages without even listening. Which would be depressing, but I’d understand. So if you don’t want me to be sending these messages anymore, just tell me. I’ll stop. Yeah… anything for you, Iris._ ”

Putting her phone against her forehead, Iris tries to stop her smile from spreading because if she smiles at the way Barry’s voice wavers as he says “understands” as if it’s the hardest thing he would ever have to endure, then she would really be a horrible person.

Without wasting another second so she doesn’t lose her sudden courage, she sends him a text.

**To: Barry :D**

_Please continue sending me voice messages. It’s good hearing your voice._

She’s about to put her phone back into her pocket when it buzzes with a new message.

**From: Barry :D**

_!! Anything for you :)))_

There’s no way she can wipe away her smile now, so when she goes inside and Linda takes one look at her face and says, “What, and I was going to save you from the cold. You look like you want to _eat_ you phone,” she says, “Shut up, Linda.”

Before she falls asleep, she sends another text message, this one to her dad.

**To: Dad <3**

_I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this thing was originally just meant to be like a short background story for Iris, because I felt there was a lack of them in the tags (or maybe I'm not looking where I should be?). Of course, it grew a plot and become a monster, and I anticipate it's going to become a five-part (max! hopefully) story. Something like that. Updates may be sporadic, but I am working at part three as I posted this, so an update within two weeks, if nothing unexpected happens. So I hope you enjoyed, and comments are always welcome :)


	2. Interlude

“Iris, this is Felicity Smoak,” Barry says with a wide smile and gestures toward the petite girl with blonde, flowing hair tied in a ponytail, wearing sensible chucks and black rimmed glasses. They frame blue eyes and makes her skin seem more fair, and Iris thinks _oh_.

Iris thinks oh, because ten years earlier, Barry and Iris went to a party when, in a lull in the party, someone suggested they should all play truth and dare. Everyone had gathered around on the floor in a circle, the girls making half the circle at one side, the boys at the other side. At some point, it was Becky Cooper’s turn to spin the bottle, and it ended up stopping exactly opposite from her, pointing at Barry. Considering how her face lit up, Iris thought she might have wished precisely for that.

“Truth or dare, Barry?” Becky had said, straightening up and looking up at him through eyelashes.

“Uhm,” Barry said and shrugged. “I guess, truth?”

Iris was looking at Becky when Barry answered, so she saw how Becky’s shoulders slumped a little, before she straightened up again with a crooked smile. “So, what type of girl do you like, Barry?”

Blushing right up to his ears, Barry had said, “Oh, wow, I—I don’t know. I don’t know if I have a, a type, really.”

Some of the boys had groaned, and Emil Svenson, who sat beside Barry, had nudged him in the arm. “Oh, come on, Barry, don’t be such a party pooper. Don’t you think the girls are curious?”

At the mention of girls, Barry’s eyes snapped up and he glanced around the circle. Iris, sitting near Becky, shifted closer in curiosity, catching Barry’s eyes. Not thinking it could be possible, Iris watched with a mix of fascination  and glee as Barry’s ears became an even darker red. She couldn’t help but smile, and her smile grew wider when Barry smiled back, almost on reflex.

“So? Barry, come on,” Becky said, while also shifting closer.

Barry glanced at her, then back at Iris, before quickly averting his gaze to the side and bowing his head in a way that clearly telegraphed his discomfort and embarrassment, which in turn made Iris cringe inwardly. These people weren’t the ones they hung out with usually, least of all Barry. She contemplated taking her cell out and fake an emergency – she could totally do it, she’d done so several times before – and was about to do so, when Barry spoke up.

“Well, uhm, I like a girl who’s kind, and just, you know, nice. I—I also like it when they’re smart, and can make me laugh, and, and just one who has a strong will, and isn’t afraid to stand their ground when they know something is clearly unfair—“

“A Disney princess, basically,” some boy shouted and people laughed and roared. “Do she have to be able to talk to animals too?”

Iris glared in the direction the shouting had come from, before turning to Barry who seemed doubly discomfited and out of place. She tried to catch his eyes, but he was looking intently down at the floor as if he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole. The sight of him so miserable made something twinge in her and set her teeth on edge.

“Hey—!” Iris began.

“Hey, fuckers,” Becky said, rising up on her feet to get people’s attention. “Shut the actual fuck up.”

It was somewhat surreal to see how fast people shut their mouths. Only the background music could be heard, and when Becky sat down again with a satisfied snort, Iris looked at her and thought that she would like to get to know this girl a bit more.

Emil, who had no sense of tact whatsoever, only chuckled after a silent beat, slinging an arm around Barry’s shoulders, “Yeah, okay, but what about looks? Blonde, brunette? Blue or green or brown eyes? Short, tall?” He moved his head closer to Barry’s to whisper something that made Barry scowl at him.

Annoyance bubbled in Iris, and she took a loose, black hair lock and twined it around her index finger to hide it. She knew the other girls must have been feeling the same. She would have liked Barry to continue, and she’s sure that most of the girls in the room were slowly beginning to crush on her adorable dork of a best friend as he stumbled through his explanation of a perfect girl.

She glanced at Becky in the corner of her eye. Becky was still frowning, but when she looked at Barry, her eyes softened and her lips pursed in an attempt to hide her smile. _Totally crushing hard,_ Iris thought in triumph.

“Okay, okay,” Barry said, shrugging away Emil’s arm in a snap movement. “Brunette's are pretty. So are blondes and red hair. Blue eyes are nice, I guess, but I think I prefer brown eyes. But green is nice too. But seriously, I don’t really think about it, personality is way more important. But I think—I mean, it would’ve been nice if she were shorter than me.”

She let her hair lock fall away from her finger when she realized she was downright pulling on it, and looked down at the floor to hide her grin.

Two weeks later, Barry started going out with Becky.

 

 

“Wait,” Barry says and puts a hand in the air between them, a bewildered look on his face. “What?”

“I just said,” Iris says, her elbows on the table between them and swirling an ice cream spoon between her finger. “I thought Felicity would be your type. She’s clearly into science, you two share the same interests, and she seems kind and funny, in a quirky way, you know? Plus, I bet you she’s super intelligence just by the way she talks.”

“Yeah,” Barry says, dragging the word, thoughtful. He falls back onto the chair and lets his head roll back, giving him an opportunity to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, she really is.”

Iris hums and takes another spoonful of lemon ice cream, letting Barry take his time to process whatever he needs to process. They’re at Jitters, long after closing time, after Barry had dropped Felicity at the strain station. She looks out through the window. Outside, the sun has gone, and the nighttime people have woken up, judging by the long lines of cars in the streets. Red and yellow lights compete against the dark backdrop, reflected in the water puddles from the rain showers earlier that day. If she looks up, she won’t see any stars. Pollution, both from the lights and the cars, have made that impossible for years now. She thinks she can recall a time, long ago, when she could see the stars, millions of them, breaks and cracks in the night sky. But she can’t be sure if it is an actual memory, or if it is something her mind has conjured in an attempt to fill the empty darkness with something beautiful she once heard about.

Looking at the blinking shopping signs, at the car lights, at the tall apartment buildings across the street, hundreds of lit-up windows, she wonders idly if it isn’t time for the youngest children to go to sleep yet.

_God, how do they fall asleep in all this light?_

She turns away from the window to take another bite of her ice cream, but she stills when she sees Barry looking at her with warm, gentle eyes, resting his elbow on the table between them and laying his head in his hand, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What were you thinking about?” he says with a low voice, his eyes searching her face. “You were gone from me for a second there.”

She tips her head, indicating the window, oddly reluctant to turn her face from his eyes. “I was,” she begins, but falters when she realizes how thick her voice sounds. She clears her throat. “I was thinking how the stars have fallen down. They’re not in the sky anymore, but here in the dirt.”

Slowly, Barry turns towards the window, but his eyes are slow to follow. They stay on her for several moments longer, making her feel warm and safe, before he looks out.

“You mean the lights?” For some reason, he keeps his voice low, almost to a whisper, making the half-lit room seem more intimate. He glances at her quickly, eyes filled with laughter. “Iris, I’m taking that statement as proof that you are a romantic. Never considered a career writing fiction, something within the romance genre maybe?”

“Shut up, Barry,” Iris laughs and lean over to swat his arm. Barry just grins and leans back in his chair so it balances precociously on two legs. A companionably silence falls between them. Barry looks outside through the window while taking sips from his cup of hot chocolate, and Iris eats her melted lemon ice cream, all the while just letting herself look at her best friend. A small smile playing at his lips is the only indication that Barry’s aware that she’s looking at him at all, but it’s enough.

“I don’t think those lights are stars, though,” Barry suddenly says offhanded, as if he is talking to himself. “For one, they all run on electricity and batteries, and basically fossil fuels, while stars are, well, enormous spheres of gas that induce thermonuclear fusion and hold themselves together by their own gravity. The probability of a light run by batteries to suddenly go out and put us into darkness is so much higher; it’s kind of ridiculous to calculate.”

“And stars don’t die?”

There must be something in her voice because Barry looks at her quickly, worrying his bottom lip between teeth. He lets the chair fall back on all four, and looks at her with frown. “Yeah, they do,” he says slowly. “But from here, it won’t be noticed until hundreds, maybe thousands of years later. And Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“I promise there are way more stars in the sky than there ever will be here.”

“Thanks, Barry,” she whispers.

“Anytime.”

They look at each other for a few beats, before Barry breaks eye contact to take another sip from his cup. From his fourth cup of hot chocolate topped with white cream. Iris snorts.

“What,” Barry asks, reaching up to wipe away the chocolate around his mouth.

Iris just shakes her head, trying and failing to smother her laugh at how indignant he sounds behind a hand. “No, it’s just—You are the only person I know who likes to drink hot chocolate while it’s 86 degrees outside.”

Barry opens his mouth in a reply, but changes his mind, and just shrugs like that’s not the weirdest thing Iris has ever known a person to do. (Well, that’s not entirely true. Shams rips off the loaf of pizza slices, eats the loaf before continuing to eat the pizza slice around the edges in a spiral. And Wally… Well, Wally’s just weird overall.)

She goes for another spoonful of ice cream, only for the spoon to hit the bottom of the cup. She looks down. It is empty.

“Don’t,” she says, looking up with a glare.

Barry raises his eyebrows and spreads his hands in front of him. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

It would have been more convincing, Iris thinks, if he didn’t have to pure his lips in a way that suggested he was trying his hardest not to laugh. She narrows her eyes at him. “But you were totally thinking it.”

Knowing he was caught and there was no point in hiding it, Barry broke out in a laugh, throwing his head back and tipping his chair along on two legs. “I—hah, I totally were!”

She thinks it suits him. She thinks this is how Barry always should be, this happy, bubbling being that can light up an entire room with his voice and wonder. She thinks she could probably live an eternity with this image of Barry etched into her eyelids.

 

 

They decide to walk home.

“I still don’t understand how you can actually eat lemon ice cream,” Barry says, still chuckling. “It tastes horrible. It doesn’t even taste lemon.”

"Oh, please," Iris says and doesn't so much nudge him as putting her whole weight on him for a moment. "You have a horrible sweet tooth. You'd probably pick something filled with cookies and cheese cake, or, god forbid, skittles."

"Well," Barry shrugs. "You know me."

"Yeah, I do."

They walk in silence, just watching the cars drive by and the lights play around them. She can feel herself swaying towards Barry, the length of this side emitting warmth, and she can smell a hint of something like citrus and earth. Given the time they were apart this year, any time together is well spent. She missed this, and, she realizes, this is much better than she remembered.

By the stairs, in the empty park just a block away from the house, she stops in the middle of the staircase, and Barry, who always rushes down staircases on the tip of his foot, his heel never touching before he's on the next step, doesn't notice before he's on the bottom. Confused, Barry turns towards her.

"Iris...?"

"You know," she says loudly and looks down, "dad was serious. When he offered for you to stay with us again. "

"Iris, what—"

“It’s just,” she says and stops. Her eyes feel hot and she almost stomps her feet in frustration. She is an aspiring journalist with a blog that is accumulating hundreds of new followers each week and even more views each day, yet right now, she can’t find any words to convey how much she needed her best friend when he was gone.

“Iris,” Barry says, sounding like he is closer. “I know why Joe offered, but it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s all okay.”

"Nope, Barry, not good enough," she snaps, throwing her arms out to the sides but still not looking up. Instead, she closes her eyes. "You were in a coma! For nine months!"

"Iris."

She first becomes aware of the scent of citrus and earth, before she opens her eyes and sees another pair of legs in front of hers, standing on a lower step, chucks against her heels. The chucks are a well-worn dark blue, the color worn out at the tips. The laces are wrapped a few times around the ankles before they're tied at the front in a neat bow. At any other moment, she would have interrupted their conversation to tease him about how weirdly he ties his shoes, but right now she just needs him to _know_.

"For nine months you were gone from me. I couldn't reach to you. Nine months, Barry. That’s three fourths of a whole year."

"Iris."

"No,” she says and looks up at him dead in the eyes. “It’s still not sinking in for you, is it? _Nine_ months. Nine _months_ , Barry! Three fourths of a year. And it wasn't like... It was so sudden. You were there, and then I got a call from dad, and you were not. I—I saw you _die_ , Barry, not once, twice, or, or… I honestly lost count.”

The memories floods her – the visits, the waiting, the hope and the desperation weighing at her at the same time as it was crucial right then for her to be strong, for herself and for her dad – and it’s too much. It’s simply too much. Iris grips her hands into fists, sharp nails digging furrows into her palms. She closes her eyes in the hope that closing one of her senses off, she can take it. She won’t drown.

“In the end, I lost hope that you would even make it."

She hears a sharp intake of breath. "Iris."

There’s a soft rustle of cloth as Barry slowly leans over and touches her index finger in a silent request. She nods, and he wraps a bony hand around hers. He guides her hand towards his chest and smiles softly at her, his eyes on hers. “See? It’s still beating.”

She smiles back, on reflex.

 

 

Barry stops by the garage, and Iris, who is so accustomed to Barry walking with her inside each time he comes home, doesn’t notice until she’s at the door. She raises an eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head and waves. Not accepting that, Iris jogs up to him before he can walk away, her heels clanking to the ground.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in front him. “Where are you thinking you’re going, mister?”

He shrugs and gives her a crooked smile. “I’m thinking I have to go home. I still have some files I need to go over and have ready ‘till tomorrow or your dad will have my head.”

“Oh,” she say in disappointment. “So you’re not staying over?”

“Not tonight,” he says.

“And it’s not because of,” she trails off and gestures at her face and probably smeared mascara. She had tried to wipe it away afterwards, but she’s pretty sure she still has something on the edges of her eyes.

Barry looks at her in puzzlement before realization hits him, and he shakes his head fervently. “Oh no, no, no. I really have work to do.”

She looks at him for a few seconds through narrowed eyes, but nods once she sees that he’s telling the truth. “Well then,” she says and is about to take a step forward to hug him and say goodnight, when Barry suddenly blurts, “I kissed her.”

She stops in her motion and raises her brows in surprise. “Who?”

“Felicity,” Barry says, squirming.

“Okay,” she says and wills her heart to slow down. He suddenly blurting out had surprised her. “So... did she kiss back?”

“Yeah,” Barry says and Iris could laugh at how disgruntled he looked at her question, picking up some kind of implication she didn’t mean.

“Okay,” Iris says and smiles. It feels a little strained but it’s only because she suddenly feels how tired she is. She hopes Barry doesn’t pick up on it thinking she’s not happy for him, because she is. She puts her hands in the pockets of her jack in lieu of not reaching towards him, and smiles wider. “Does it mean you are together?”

“Oh no,” Barry says and looks down. She does too, and sees that he is digging the tip of his right foot into the ground. “We agreed it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Oh,” Iris says and crooks her head, trying to catch his eyes and read his expression, but he won’t meet her eyes. “I really thought… you were interested in each other.”

Barry sighs and his whole body slumps with it. He is still not meeting her eyes. “Shows what you know.”

And that… that stings, all right. But maybe she deserves it. She likes to think of herself as a pretty good judge of character. She tends to see what makes up a person; how they carry themselves and what makes them tick. That’s why she ended up studying psychology, after all.  She thinks she is quite self-aware too, so she knows that sometimes she relies too much on her intuition that she is so proud of using. She is not too prideful not to admit that it can sometimes lead her astray.

Now she just bites her lip, looking down, trying to stop the sting of hurt.

“Hey, no, Iris,” Barry calls softly, touching her arm. “I—I didn’t mean _that_.”

She looks up and smiles sheepishly, shrugging on one shoulder. “Yeah, you did. Don’t worry, Barry, I probably should have slowed down and let you do your own thing.”

“No, I’m going about it the wrong way,” Barry mutters under his breath, squeezing her arm. She is probably not supposed to catch what he says, but they’re standing with only a couple of inches between them. It’s difficult not to.

Barry takes a breath. “She’s interested in another,” he says. “Always was. She admitted we probably would be good if she wasn’t interested in the other guy. I know him, by the way. He is—the type of amazing it’s hard to compete with.”

Iris is shaking her head before he even finishes. “No, Barry, you are amazing. You are the kindest person I know, selfless and dedicated to everyone you love. Honestly, sometimes I’d like it if you thought more about yourself. You are so smart, and so intelligent, and so funny, and just _good_. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

There’s a weird expression on Barry’s face, like he can’t decide whether he wants to grin or glare or frown. In the end, he simply shakes his head, a soft, self-deprecating smile curving at his lips.

“You really don’t know,” he whispers. She tilts her head in question, but he shakes his head yet again.

“For what it is worth, I am sorry,” she says.

“Not like I am,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, working through part two and part three, I realized I couldn't work this to fit with the rest of the story without disrupting the flow and pacing, so I figured, why not make it a single part. So here's a small part, and I'll try to keep my goal of finishing part two within two week. Hope you enjoyed this part and comments are always welcome! :)


End file.
